


Nine Brushstrokes Of Red Under The Blue Moon

by TheSleepyOne



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, M/M, Multi, Other, Past Violence, Sexual Violence, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepyOne/pseuds/TheSleepyOne
Summary: Your butler Bucky and you take over the world.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Nine Brushstrokes Of Red Under The Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my friends for a fic prompt and this is what they came up with. This is also my friend’s birthday gift so wish her a happy birthday! Unbeta’d as always.

The moon was hung high in the sky. A blue moon if you remembered correctly, a truly perfect night to take over the world. 

“Ladies and gentlemen and those in between and beyond….” You stood at the front of the conference room, head held high with Bucky by your side. The world leaders were frozen with shock. Three bodies laid face down on the floor in front of you, their blood staining the carpet a pretty red color. A bullet hole was in each of their heads, clean from one ear canal to the other. 

“Now that I have your attention, shall we begin?” You stared them down, daring anyone to disagree. Those who were staring began averting their gaze but a few foolish ones dared to look on. They must have death wishes. 

“Who exactly are you?” a woman asked from the middle of the room. Her voice told of one that never backed down when presented a challenge. A strong leader in the face of another. If she agreed to the terms then she would become a great ally. 

“That is none of your concern. What you should be worried about is my demands,” you rejected her question, walking down the aisle like you owned the room and everyone in it. In time, you would. 

“And what exactly are your demands?” a man asked harshly, shifting in his seat. He was so afraid, it was pathetic. Gesturing with your head just so, no one besides Bucky was able to see your command. 

Your heart skipped a beat as the gunshot sounded out. You would never be used to the thrill that came with the sound. The red blood, a liquid delicacy few have the honor to see. The man slumped forward onto the person in front of him. You could see the room tense as another joined the count. 

“Ask nicely next time,” you said in your way of explanation for the dead man rotting away.

A collective gulp could be heard throughout the room. They were all learning the terms and conditions, but each time they got it wrong more dead would turn up. It was such a fun game, you really should do this more often. 

“What can I do for you to spare my life?” another man prompted, one of the foolish ones that continued to stare. 

“Hmm, let me think.” You brought your hand up to your chin in a mock of The Thinker. “Bucky, what can he do for me to spare his life?” 

As the mention of his name, Bucky’s cool steel eyes landed on you. He was in his own mind, your Bucky, not The Winter Soldier. But all of that could change within a single moment. At the drop of a coin he would be under your complete and utter control. Only now you wanted his honest opinion. 

“His title.” 

“Oh yes! Your title. I want it,” you exclaimed, clasping your hands together in a cheer. No one else seemed to want to join you in your celebration. Now that just won’t do. “All of your titles, to be truthful.” 

You glanced around, watching how many shifted, showed signs of disobedience. A total of nine stood their ground. They even stood from their seats like that would do anything besides make easier targets for Bucky.

“What do you have to say now?” you amused them, if only for your own entertainment. 

“You will not have my title,” said a stern woman whose eyes were a dashing brown. A hint of green and ringed with a thin black line. It was like looking up in the dead of night to see the topmost branches of great pines. Perhaps you will spare her, perhaps not. You have yet to decide. 

“And why not? Do you not value your life?”

“I value the lives of my people. I do not care who you are, you will not lay your filthy hands on them,” she said with conviction, her pride and her confidence in display. It was like memorizing the brushstrokes on a framed painting. A waste of time. 

“Filthy?” You dropped down to where the man was pushed to the ground, dragging your fingers through the red that had spilled. The people in his row stepped on each other’s toes to get out of your way fast enough, mindless mice running from a starving lion.

Drawing a smiley face on your cheek with the dead man’s blood, you continued, “Is this what you call filthy?” you furrowed your eyebrows and let loose a gentle feral grin, tilting your head to signal Bucky. “I was certain this was how you became a leader….”

You stride towards the woman who stood among eight others. She never once trembled in your presence as you neared her. Your breath was hot against her neck. “Become the filth that replaces the first.” 

Nine shots rang out. Nine bodies hit the floor. Nine brushstrokes of red under the blue moon.


End file.
